Dimming Lights
by verfens
Summary: After the Long Century, the Great War shook the ground society stood on, and tore relationships apart. This is the story of those who were broken in the rising tide of the 21st century. The case of Britain: Fool's Gold. "I can guarantee that this isn't over yet. Not even close, old boy."
1. Dream

Dimming Lights

A post WWI story

The Case of Prussia: Dream  
Summary Quote: "It was the dream of a great man for me to become as great as I could be."  
Characters: Prussia, Germany, Austria, Hungary  
Theme: Treaty of Versailles

* * *

Even the act of moving was searing agony now.

"Fuck you, Arthur." Gilbert had woken up in the early hours of the morning, body soaked with a cold sweat. He had been startled from his nightmare and now his middle, sides, and limbs were burning in response to the sudden movement of him jerking awake. He grumbled, and didn't particularly want to get up, not when he knew that he was only going to further aggravate his broken body, and burn energy his ridiculous rations could never even hope to replenish. Even though he knew that people needed taking care of and his stomach would only growl more if he ignored it. He knew he was a nation, but come the hell on- nations still needed to eat, just as much as humans did. He was willing to fast, but his brother was unused to being starved as he was. So he had been getting most of the rations in the house. But he digressed- he couldn't do anything about it..

In the wake of the grudge match that had been the Great War, Prussia and Germany and their allies had been half dead, when Arthur and Francis- backed by Alfred's army- had given his young inexperienced brother a _dictat- _give into whatever terms they wished upon or, naturally, be invaded and demolished further. There hadn't been much of a choice, and now they were like a horse being told to gee-up when its feet weren't even touching the ground. But, what could they do? While neither Arthur nor Francis really had the force to make them keep to the treaty, Alfred certainly had that power. That power and more.

That's why they agreed.

Oh boy, what hellish terms they were. It was like an old bar fight, with Alfred coming in at the end and punching Ludwig through a wall, before a very smug looking black-eyed Francis decided to raid their wallet, and put the damages of the fight on their tabs.

Prussia was in bed for another few minutes, before he felt as though he would go stir crazy if he didn't get up and move. So, grunting, he forced himself up. He hissed as he cracked his back. When he was up onto his feet, he shuffled into the living room, hands holding him up using a wall. He smacked Roderich from where he slept on the couch. "Get up- I can't help all your ungrateful asses myself." But, he didn't get up. He didn't even stir, and Gilbert let out a very hearty curse. "Oh no, you fucker. Did you go and get yourself sick again?" He felt his forehead, and his insides felt like they melted. He shuffled to the kitchen, and gathered their rations, checking Hungary and Germany both. If they were sick….why wasn't he?

He skipped breakfast to ensure they kept up their strength, feeding them all by hand.

* * *

In the end, it didn't matter. They dropped like flies only hours later. He ended the whole fiasco by putting blankets over their corpses, waiting for them to revive. He placed it over his brother's slack face- the only time he ever looked relaxed was in death, and even then, he still looked a bit tense with the crease in his brow. It sickened him to even look at his brother's still face, even though he looked like he was just relaxed a bit.

Damn, he needed a smoke.

He went through his stash, and lit the cigar, taking in deep drags. This was going to cost him later, but he had just watched his brother's fever induced death, likely splattered with hallucinations and he didn't have him by his side. He hadn't wanted his brother to die painfully, ever. That's why he hadn't let him out on the war front until the ending years, when he hadn't been strong enough to keep on going. Gilbert sighed again, and started to speak aloud now that no one was there to hear him being weak.

"I wonder what Bismarck would think of me now?" Gilbert mused. "I just lost one hell of a war, and Germany's been sliced up like a goose on Christmas. Let alone the debt…the restrictions….or the treaty….." He shook his head. "_Realpolitik _was a French word originally, _raison d'eta_t, so why did Francis make such a cruel term for us? We didn't even start it, only joined in. This was just a game of revenge for him, wasn't it?" Gilbert rubbed the nape of his neck, and leaned back. "He certainly doesn't practice what he preached."

"What about the fact I don't have control over you?" He looked towards his brother again. "That was his dream, you know. He wanted a Germany united under the mighty Hohenzollern crown. But…." He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm dying. I won't die, not yet, but….I can feel your people as a people that are no longer mine. You are entirely separate. I'm guessing that would make him angrier than anything else. _Gilbert, I told you not to fuck this up!_" He laughed, "Kesesese, I can even hear him /now/. He's going to pull my ears all the way to the seventh layer of hell for this one."

Gilbert closed his eyes. "Don't think I'm scared or anything. I don't regret a single decision I made. Maybe losing Bismarck, then perhaps this whole war wouldn't have happened. But, I don't regret you. I love you, Lutz. Now wake up and avenge me!" He joked, waving the cigar. He took another drag. "Not really, of course- I couldn't ask you to do that."

"It was the dream of a great man for me to become as great as I could be." He said, very coolly, as he looked to Ludwig and felt every one of his years crush him down, while he took his cold hand and squeezed it. "I don't actually consider myself a great man, not someone that can change the course of Europe like he could, but….It's my dream for you to be as great as you can be, and I'll protect you from the bad things in life until the end. I hope I can accomplish it."

As a harsh knocking came from his door, he stood and threw the cigar to the ground. The Allied guards were here to check on him. He shuffled to the door, and opened it to the soldiers outside.

* * *

A/N: I just wanted to write something about how the world was like in the wake of the First world war, since really the only stories I've seen about it are about the roaring twenties and how awesome they were. This is a series of one-shots, each one focusing on a different character from the series.

History note: What's a great man? It's a man who literally changed the course of history. Think Napoleon, think Bismarck- without these men, history would be very different. The Great Man Theory was a popular 19th century idea according to which history can be largely explained by the impact of "great men", or heroes: highly influential individuals who, due to either their personal charisma, intelligence, wisdom, or Machiavellianism utilized their power in a way that had a decisive historical impact.


	2. Curdled

Dimming Lights

A post WWI story

The Case of Italy Veneziano: Curdled  
Summary Quote: "Cover your eyes and your ears, and follow your heart."  
Characters: Italy Veneziano  
Theme: The Rise of Mussolini

* * *

Italy hated how unstable his nation was now. He sat in his pathetic, mocking office, looking over paper work. Prussia had kicked him out from visiting his little brother- how he dare he keep such a secret from him! Prussia had been like an older brother to him for years! - claiming that he was sick with the flu. His own brother had caught it, so he took his excuse. This damned flu had spread throughout Europe and America. They called it the Spanish Flu- and if the Great War hadn't killed the current generation, this managed to finish its job. But, he hadn't seen a case for a while, so maybe Prussia was just…

He didn't let it bother him, and instead sighed. "My nation's a mess, my friends are being stupid, and I can't go out." He leaned back in his desk, messing with the paperweight. "I wanna get to know Germany more; he looks so much like Holy Rome did…." It was hard to believe that his death had been only a hundred years ago. It still hurt to think about. "Maybe Prussia's just mad at me for switching sides. That would make sense."

He looked down. "I couldn't do anything, and he should know that it was my boss's decision. We were losing. He always said to do what was best, and leaving was the best option…." Italy just felt guiltier. While Prussia had always said to believe in practicality, he knew it was a really shitty move- Prussia could have left Austria on his ass and not go with France into war with him like France really wanted. They could have avoided the whole damn thing. But he followed through on his treaty to a man who was like a brother to him at times, his oldest friend and greatest rival, Austria. At the end, Italy left them both, not wanting to fight against the Allies. And when they wrote the treaty of Versailles, it made him sick. He couldn't believe the articles that forced Germany to take total blame for the war. Or the price tag of it. Or the fact they were slicing him up like a sausage.

And now France was gloating about his victory over Germany. It was only America and Britain that won. France was part of the victory, but his contribution was minimal. Italy had gotten very little, for abandoning his allies and siding with the Allies. It was another Crimean war, essentially. Italy sided with France, but got nothing!

Well, nothing but dirty looks from people who had once loved him.

And this just led him back where he was in the office, alone, and now friendless.

* * *

His nation was in a load of trouble. All nations were, really. Hadn't they learned? Did humans ever learn? When a major economical trade center was put into depression, all were going to follow. Then there was the lack of military in Germany, preventing them from bouncing back. He understood wanting revenge, really, but to this extent? It was both bizarre and disastrous.

There was a demonstration outside. It seemed like there always were demonstrations these days. At the last meeting of the league of actual nations, they had all commented on them- From America's Hoovervilles to Italy's own March on Rome. This was relatively new, but they had a new leader- Mussolini. He shivered at the man's name. Mussolini, or Benito, had been kicked out of his own party for supporting the Great War, and as a Socialist, he was supposed to say he was neutral, and he should refuse to fight. The fact that he used the war for his own ends showed something that was going on behind the curtain.

He decided to follow what his nation was telling him to- go out with his people and protest. His own supervisor looked disappointed, but listening to his bosses had landed him friendless and still incomplete.

It had led to nothing good to follow what he 'should' do based on reasoning.

* * *

His newest boss was asked to be called Benito. It sounded too cute for a man like this one. Italy fiddled with his tie as the man came into his office. "H-Hello Mussolini- I-I assume you've been told who I am."

The man nodded. "You told me you were Feliciano, though, when you were protesting with us." Benito sounded very interested. "Does a nation feel?"

Italy was very offended at that. "Of course we do! We love and make friends and spend time with one another!" Benito only smiled, very sly and when he remembered it in his later years he would shiver at the picture.

"Then I imagine you've been very lonely lately. I want to know your opinion on a new political party I have. Family values are key to me, you know. I want the nation to be redeemed- to have its old borders and expand beyond them. Italy deserves to be on the same level as England and France."

Feliciano had to admit, he had been trying to unite himself with his brother at his side since the 1850's. And he was still incomplete- parts of him belonging to Austria, and France, in their new borders.

"Just pledge your allegiance to me." Benito smiled. "And the Fascist party- and I will make you as great as the Ancient Romans were." He held out his hand.

Italy shook it. "My king gave you permission to make a new government. I would love to support you however you need."

"Remember, cover your eyes and your ears, and follow your heart." Benito said, very seriously, though he smiled very invitingly. Italy wanted to do as he said. "Following your heart is the best way to find happiness. I will lead us to greatness."

* * *

A/N: And we saw where that went, Feliciano. Anyway, some historical things. The March on Rome was the coup d'etat where Mussolini took control of Italy. Largely, as we saw, the slimeball wanted control and he used his blackshirts, and his combined revolutionary and traditionalist plans to win over Italy. So, yeah, I do think that Feliciano would be caught up in his sway- but Lovino wouldn't. Historically, the South Italians helped the allies and killed Mussolini.

So what are the Blackshirts? Giribaldi's Redshirts had been Italian nationalists that had unified the nation in the 1800's. It was a throwback to Giribaldi, to sway people over to his side.

That was about the effects of the Treaty of Versailles in the Germanic group, this one's about the rise of Mussolini.


	3. Meteorite

Dimming Lights

A post WWI story

The Case of America: Meteorite  
Summary Quote: "Just keep dancing little boy. Keep on dancing until you crash down."  
Characters: America, Britain  
Theme: The Roaring Twenties

* * *

He was actually quite a good dancer. "My, aren't you good." His partner winked at him, and Alfred Jones smiled like a fool. He knew he was also quite the looker.

"I had to get the worst dancing lessons as a kid! This is so much nicer than a tango, if a little harder!" He laughed, and she giggled, trying to act coyly, as they took one another's hands and started to dance night away. Alfred was used to charming his citizens, male or female, and she was no different, hopping along with him and stepping wildly, yet completely in control. The sounds of the band were overwhelmingly loud, yet he didn't mind it at all, loving how wild it sounded. It sounded so...so free!

He loved his nation, flying high after the war. America now understood what Britain had meant by "War economy". It was like a booster! And now he had the money to go back and help Germany, where Britain and France had put the poor kid into debt up over his ears. Stupid of them, naturally- Germany had been quite the economical powerhouse.

Speaking of Britain, the fucker was going to be coming over soon and he grumbled at the thought. As the next song ended, he bowed to his partner, kissing her hand tenderly as she giggled. "My, what a gentleman." She swooned, as he waved her off with a smile.

"I gotta go- an acquaintance of mine requires a meeting with me." She nodded, and sashayed off, while he grumbled, "I mean coworker at best. He's been such an _ass_."

He had torn his treaty up into tiny little pieces, only commenting that he was a terrible dreamer, and always had been. _"Only fought for a year? Then you get no say, little boy." _Britain was awfully mean for a guy currently in a shitty ass economy. Fixing his tie, he started to walk back to the headquarters of foreign affairs, to meet up with the limey man, and read up on his letters to other nations.

His last letter from Prussia had been sympathetic, with a bit of understanding, but also a good deal of asking him, "Where is the money you promised me?" Alfred felt for him, the kind man had taken the fall for his little brother more than once. But, he was still working on it, and his congress was being an ass. Meanwhile, Hoover wasn't doing much for the vets or the farmers. So Alfred didn't like him much either.

* * *

As he waltzed into the building, he ordered his secretary for a thing of coffee, wanting to annoy him just a bit more. Either way, he was doing just fine, so he didn't need emergency help like Europe did right now. Alfred took his coffee, smirking as he saw Arthur waiting for him, leaning against the wall with a frown inset on his face. "Old man, there you are! I knew I'd see you, even if you didn't send me a letter in advance. But yanno? Whatever." He shrugged. "It's not rude or anything to come unannounced to the nation, so long as you tell the office ahead of time."

Britain didn't smile. If anything, the frown deepened. "America, you're acting like a child. Don't pretend as though because we are allies now, we have anything special." He scoffed, and Alfred had to grit his teeth.

"I would have hoped we'd be over this _issue _now, but it appears some can't let go of a grudge. I'm a new guy. A lot more fun to be around, if you'd bother to try and get to know the new me." Britain rolled his eyes.

"I'm not here for your pleasantries, America. I'm here for your wallet." He was very matter of fact, green eyes leveling him back to earth. "We need money to repair Britain, and you're doing pretty damned well right now."

"Feh, I've already been sending you help. It's going the rate it's going. Maybe if you had used _my _treaty…" He taunted, blue eyes frosty, "we'd be in a better state all over the world. But yanno? Revenge was also a completely viable path."

Britain gave him an icy look back, seething. "Boy, you don't know what you're even talking about. You know what? I'm leaving. I don't need to be here." America rolled his eyes. Naturally, he threw a fit when the ugly truth was pointed out. "Go back to your silly dancing." He growled. "Looks more like a seizure than a dance. I thought I taught you better." He huffed.

America tensed. "I'm not a child anymore." He glared at the older nation.

"Why are you so foolish then? Did you really think I was here for you? Or for your silly dancing?" Britain had found his newest thing to tease. "Just keep dancing little boy. Keep on dancing until you crash down. I don't have to be a part of it, so good day." He tipped his hat mockingly, and strode out of the room, nose in the air.

America sat down, forlorn, and sipped his coffee. "Why are you so damned difficult?" He asked a Britain that was no longer there.

* * *

Much as to England's prediction, he would crash- and burn. In 1929 the stock market crashed. But, he still danced, danced to forget his worries. Or to try and forget them.

But two years later, he woke up one morning, and could no longer see.

America screamed in terror and agony- or tried to. His voice was no longer there.

The Dirty Thirties had begun.

* * *

A/N: The "Dirty Thirties" Refer to the start of the Dust Bowl, caused by over farming, and then not farming at all. The topsoil was removed. I personally think as a major natural disaster, it would have a monumental effect on him. Namely, like those who got caught in it, he would be blinded and be unable to speak.

The Roaring Twenties were the frying pan before the fire, actually. They had a lot of trouble with those who were poor, and the farmers were pretty poor too. Then, when the stocks crashed, things went into full blown panic. That's why it got so bad so quickly. It actually wasn't that quick at all. Had Hoover acted when the farmers needed him, then the whole damned thing might have been avoided. Good thing that in the thirties, we had a Great Man that changed the course of history. (AKA FDR)


	4. Tuileries

Dimming Lights

A post WWI story

The Case of France: Tuileries  
Summary Quote: "I feel like a child, who is satisfied after pushing someone to the ground, because they tugged my hair."  
Characters: France  
Theme: Regret

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy didn't know how to feel anymore. He had been so sure of his revenge back when he dealt it out, despite America's argument and England's insistence they didn't entirely crush Germany.

Maybe he had put too much faith into the whites, who he were sure would defeat the communists. Maybe he was blinded by emotion. He didn't know anymore. Whatever it was, it was stupid. He had singlehandedly severed a tattered tie with a man he had once considered his best friend.

It was mainly stupid because now they were all starving, and unable to do anything as a man named Mussolini came along and walked all over them, and Italy seemed like a lost cause already, giving in to an idea called "Fascism."

How could he have known things would turn out like this?

What had made him so sure of himself?

As he walked home, he noted those with no home in the streets of Paris once again. He felt like a failure to his people. He had pushed his feelings of revenge on them through their nationalism, and had created a deep grudge which helped get them stuck in this war to begin with.

This wasn't a world they could fight like children anymore. This wasn't a place where war was like a tuileries. It wasn't some petty dispute. With all the treaties they set up, with all the weapons and the men and the ships, they should have _known _better than to immediately go to war all in one go. France didn't even have to try anything against Germany. Germany was related to Austria, it was a blood tie, for god's sake. But France saw his chance to draw blood, and cut deep when the war was finished- At the cost of Russia, his friendships, and Italy's friendships.

There was the fact that at least America was out in the open, but after they literally tore his paper apart in front of him, France doubted he would come to their aid ever again.

To illustrate that, America had gone around them to help Germany pay off the debt, spending time with _them _instead of his ex-allies. He defended his stance by saying he was _neutral _again, but he knew that America was very much against them, at least until he had a reason to be with them again.

"I feel like a child, who is satisfied after pushing someone to the ground, because they tugged my hair." He told himself, sighing quietly as his old bones creaked in his bruised, thin body.

"But I've always been that way, non? Ever since I was a child."

* * *

When he and Britain were little, lord knows how he treated that boy. He had squashed the language out of him, both metaphorically and literally, quashing his resistance and giving him complexes both knew the island never got over.

And when Britain was strong enough, he fought back. And France was offended at the very idea, overcompensating and creating a bitter rivalry that never could heal. He liked Britain, and that was the most disgusting thing. He had done such terrible things to someone he loved.

Francis felt guilt close up his throat, and he got out a wine glass, for a good old chardonnay.

He always overreacted. Always was too over the top.

And now he finally did it. He had gone too far- he had thought he had when he had killed the sickly boy named Holy Rome. He had thought he had when he had raped Britain and his language. But this was too far.

Making a young nation like Germany- who was an actual _child- _take the blame for what old countries did in the name of grudges, that was too far. Especially with the fact it was Prussia who took the blow for him. Prussia, though he had supported Germany, hadn't been the country named in the treaty, and France hadn't even shown concern when the albino nation started coughing blood- the life blood of a people no longer his own.

What if Prussia died before France was able to get him to forgive him?

What if Prussia didn't forgive him?

He didn't have the answers to those questions.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

* * *

France sighed as he sipped on his chardonnay. It was a character flaw of his, much like a trait of a tragic hero, something that he had always thought of as his greatest trait, his dramas were always extravagant. But the other side of the coin was his overreactions, his deep rooted anger, his ability to let go of grudges, his desire to make those who make him angry bleed.

His tendency to dramatize was his Achilles's heel.

He was a child, shoving others to the ground to get everything to himself. And he recognized the time and place for that behavior was a time long past.

His problem was that he didn't know how to stop the behavior, and now he had no one willing to try and help him do so.

Too little, too late- the words taunted him, and they would taunt him for the rest of his days.

* * *

A/N: France is hard, mainly because it's difficult for me to write on his character. From his history, France is the guy who goes 5 steps too far, and so I guess this is a general 1920's one shot, discussing how he fucked up and how bad of trash he is.

Note: Tuileries- the title of a picture from the Great Exhibition in the 1800's, in the Long Century. I thought it was symbolic to call this chapter this because the picture was of little kids fighting with one another. I was going for a "that was then this is now" feel with the title, so yeah. They really romanticized the war, when really it was the bloody war that showed the world just what they would be facing in the 20th century.

Thank you to those who followed and reviewed! It's really wonderful to have feedback, but I know it's annoying to see big long blocks of text begging for it, so I'll try and avoid it.


	5. Torn

Dimming Lights

A Post World War I Story

Case of Hungary: Torn  
Summary Quote: "It's not that we're separate now that bothers me, it's that they did it without my permission."  
Characters: Hungary, Poland  
Theme: Domestic Affairs

XXXX

After the Treaty of Versailles was said and done, she had thought that the Allies were through with her.

She had been wrong. Not only had they torn her marriage apart, they had to rub salt into the wounds, just like they had done with every other nation they had fought against. It was stupid really. "Poland, dear, thank you for coming over." She smiled, limping a bit through her (_empty_) house.

"It's not a problem at all, honey." The nation smiled at her, sitting down on her couch as she sat down with him. "Really, I can thank them for making me a nation, but lord, they certainly took out their frustrations on you! You look like shit." Poland was never very good at not being utterly blunt with her.

"You should see what Prussia looks like! He has a fever that just won't go away, the poor thing, probably an infection that hasn't gone away yet." She shook her head. "I don't know what my ex is doing without me. As soon as the damned flu was over, they separated all of us. How rude!" Elizaveta took a sip of her drink. "How has nationhood been, though. I know that it is very rough for me now."

"It's been great! But I think Prussia is less than happy with me. He wouldn't stop giving me, like, _looks_ at the last meeting." Felix gave her a menacing glare, and imitated a German accent. "That land was my _baby_, don't you dare fuck it up." She had to laugh, as she knew that Gilbert was probably just whining about losing a bunch of land he had only just taken over.

"That's him alright. But Roderich got spanked! Serbia actually got to spank him!" She laughed again, shaking his head. "Hopeless, those two."

Felix gave her a sympathizing look as her smile went sour. "Do you miss him?" He asked, leaning back in his chair. "Roderich, I mean. You were together for almost all of the last century!"

"No, of course not!" She bristled. "He was a terrible husband." Elizaveta looked a bit sad, though. She did miss him, but not like that. "I miss the company. Whether or not we liked each other, I had someone by my side to balance me out. I miss making fun of him."

Felix gave her a steady look. "I know that is not the end of it, honey. I know you too well- Since we were kids, even. He was a terrible man. Treated you like shit."

"It's not that we're separate now that bothers me, it's that they did it without my permission." She admitted. "I had no control over it. I had been meaning to leave him for a bit, and that they just….did it without any huge fight….it bugs me." Felix looked a lot more satisfied now.

"That sounds more like you. You wanted to end the relationship on your own terms." Poland said, confirming his satisfaction at the answer.

"Of course I did. It was my marriage. They had no right- the monarchy was on the collapse anyway. And then there has been all the fighting." Hungary scoffed, looking into her drink thoughtfully. "Damned Reds; Damned Whites; damned Romania, damn to a whole lot of things. I just can't catch a break these days."

Poland looked very somber, a look that was very unusual on a nation like him. "I don't think any of us can, not with the state of things being how it is now."

XXXXX

A/N: Hungary is of course, talking about the spread of communism, and then the counterrevolution, with the support of Romania. Both sides did terrible things in the state of Hungary. It's important to remember that not just Germany was thinking that it was the fault of the Jewish people. Anti-Semitism was rampant in Hungary in the years after WWI.

I'm using Domestic in the two senses of the word- one for the marriage, and the other for the sense of the instability present in Hungary at the time.


	6. Irredentia

Dimming Lights

A Post World War I Story

The Case Of Italy Romano: _Irredentia_  
Summary Quote: "What belongs to us still is not ours. I won't stop until it is."  
Characters: Italy Veneziano and Italy Romano  
Theme: Mussolini

* * *

Romano was nothing but patient with them, before. He had waited for support from France, he had united with his brother, all for the sake of unifying once and for all. Under one name- _Italia. _He had displayed patience one time too many. It was infuriating. It was an outrage that they did not give him the rest of his land- the land that had belong to their grandfather. The land that Garibaldi and Cavour had fought for- they still did not have it and it was almost fifty years past since their fight, still _irredente_.

It made him angry beyond reason.

His brother was content to simper under the rule of yet another tyrant. The nations that had been on top for years now- and who still were on top, no longer making it even possible for movement. The one who had tried to set them off balance was punished until he was almost dead.

It was a scandal.

He had given them his loyalty freely, when before they had simply stolen it from him. And they offered him nothing in return. Was this just another Crimean war? Were they that stupid? The Crimean war had left the power vacuum for this war to blossom in the first place. They had started that war over greed, just as they started this one. Two of a kind, even in how Italy was stiffed in the spoils- just as before, they were promised things they did not receive. And Romano was tired of having his trust misused.

_Italia Irredentia, _still a part of the nations who had sliced their lands in the first place- France, Austria, and more.

And neither Lovino Vargas, nor Italia Romano, would let them get away with having a place on Italian soil.

* * *

He had kept his brother in the dark about the state of affairs under _Il Duce_. The younger had always been more political, less eager to get in the fray and _fight_ for what was rightfully theirs. It had shown when he sided with Cavour, rather than the redshirts.

Now Lovino wasn't wearing red, but rather, black. How terrible it was they were still fighting for the unredeemed Italy, _Italia Irredentia. _ He would become stronger. He would redeem the Italian Peninsula, in the name of their grandfather, the Roman Empire. In his name they made the citizens and therefore the nations stand behind him.

Mussolini. He put the bread on their table when they needed it most, in their darkest hour. And for that, Romano would hold him in highest reverence. He would do his dirty work, even when it was less honorable than Garibaldi, and his redshirts. He was industrializing Italy once more. He would make Italy great once more.

Even if it meant doing some terrible things behind shut doors.

* * *

"Fratello, I think he can finish the job." Feliciano smiled at him at the dinner table. "We're getting so close now. I'm so excited!" And Lovino had to smile at the idiot.

"Of course he can do it. He's one of the best leader's we've ever had. I am getting into this fascism thing." Feliciano nodded eagerly.

"I haven't seen so many happy faces since before the Great War. I can only hope that Germany will get a leader soon, he's not doing so good."

"Feh, Potato bastard will be fine. They always seem to bounce back, those German idiots." Romano sneered at the thought. Prussia was a big boy, and though he hadn't assisted Austria in the fight to take over their peninsula, he had been a part of the force that had given them to Spain and Austria. And those men had let Lovino end up in the lesser part of Italy, with the bad economy and agricultural issues, with no industrialization. Then there was Germany. There was always a blonde boy representing the Germanic whole. He'd be fine.

And it was then his brother frowned. "I don't know that, he was in pretty bad shape after the treaty."

"Be glad you and I got out early. But we won't do it next time. We will be loyal allies to those that will bring us the greatest advantage."

"I don't know, I still feel as though I betrayed him. Big Brother Prussia and Austria…"

"We don't owe them anything. We will earn our way ourselves. We will redeem our lands from where they tore them apart." He growled, and then smiled, remembering that in the end, they would have to work together.

"We will finally redeem our shared land, fratello. What belongs to us still is not ours. I won't stop until it is."

* * *

A/N: More Mussolini, less focused on his rise, more focused on how he worked to the public, and behind the scenes.


	7. Fool's Gold

Dimming Lights

A Post World War I Story

The Case of Britain: Fool's Gold  
Summary Quote: "I can guarantee that this isn't over yet. Not even close, old boy."  
Characters: Britain and France  
Theme: The League of Nations and the Future of Europe.

* * *

Many would consider Arthur Kirkland to be an old soul, one they could turn their heads to when they had entered the war now more than ten years ago. They were right in some aspects- he was damn old, but he wasn't always the best person to look to when in troubled times, to guide them in times of need.

Currently, the nation called Arthur was slumped over the counter of a pub, and his oldest friend was coming to pick him up, shaking his head. "Mon ami, for the leader of the League of Nations, you are looking pretty stupid." Britain whacked his hand away.

"S' my fault he did it again." He was drunk, and moping at that. "Asshole left me again."

"Yes, it's your fault. He was being polite, while you did everything in your power to be an ass." France agreed, wrapping his arms around the other's chest, and heaving him up with a grunt. "Now, to your feet. The meeting is supposed to start soon. We had things like this all the time in the last century, but our bosses want this to be more formal than just talking about the state of affairs."

"The League is pointless without its creator." Britain reminded him. "And we chopped up his plan to bitsss…." His head dropped down again. "I tore it up in his face once the Germans surrendered to the terms."

"Yes, we can both agree you are a terrible person, but as of right now, you are also drunk. And you have a meeting in three hours." France sighed, forcing Arthur to keep walking. "Honestly though, what's the real problem. Just the other day you were saying it was better without him, and his "silly isolationist ways". Care to explain?"

"It's going to happen again." Britain said, shaking his head. "It will all happen again. Germany will rise again."

France paled. "But we did so much to him- is it even possible?"

"You know what's possible when Gilbert has his mind set on something. " England moped, shaking his head. "Anything." No sooner had he answered himself then his consciousness was lost, and France was left holding a dangling man.

Francis sighed, shaking his head.

* * *

The meeting only had those who had sided with them. In a twisted move, Gilbert and his brother were kept out of the new system. Not only was it them going "nenernenernener!", but it was also a formal creation of sides. By keeping them out, they had effectively cut them off.

This would be detrimental in the future. And England knew it.

He had woken up only an hour before the meeting, and was showered and dressed again. He sighed. "Well, that was bloody awful of me." He had moped- in public- about America's decision to back out of what he created, the League of Nations.

America had been the reason Germany had surrendered in the first place. What would they do if Germany started his war economy again? They could do nothing! They were all in a big amount of trouble.

And then there was Russia, or, Soviet Union as they called him now. Recently reestablished, after all. The Reds had finally gotten a nation on their side. What an astonishing thing. He had figured something was up with him, when he stopped showing up at White meetings. But to join the other side?

It was disastrous. And Germany might not be enough to stop him if he decided to take over Europe.

That had been England's prerogative when they wrote the treaty of Versailles. Make sure that there was a border between France and Russia, while still making him pay. He hadn't wanted to utterly destroy him, just weaken him. Well, a lot. He couldn't say he wasn't angry at the younger nation, because he most certainly had been- and still was. But there were more important things at hand then petty revenge. He could get that over the course of time. But….

It had been France that had really wanted to destroy him. And he had done a very good job at that, with how brutal the treaty was.

Now, with Germany, Prussia and their allies hating them, and with Russia looking awfully fierce, discussing how England and France were enemies of the worker and that communist bullock, he wasn't so sure of the end of the Great War. In fact, after what his old boss had said about the whole thing, he was sure it _wasn't_ over.

France came into the room again. "You're looking dashing, for an Englishman." He teased without heat, and Britain knew that he wasn't trying to get to him.

"Shut it, frog. Are you prepared to run this?" He asked seriously, not exactly trusting in how well Francis was prepared.

"I have been for a while. What are you going to talk about?"

"The old war of course, and preparations for what is to come," Britain grimaced.

"For what? The war is over." France frowned at the ominous tone in his words

"I can guarantee that this isn't over yet. Not even close, old boy." England told him, and got out a smoke. "Not even close."

* * *

A/N: David Llyod George was the Prime Minister of Britain when he predicted that World War II was soon to come- directly because of the treaty of Versailles. American Congress-much like today, doesn't like the idea of the US playing nicely with others. They barred the US from joining the League of Nations.


End file.
